Pathways - Jeri Taylor [8]
The real problem was that the prisoners had used the downstream portion of the stream as a latrine. A foul mass of excrement assaulted their noses, and insects buzzed heavily over it. Each member of the group felt his stomach churn at the sight.
“At least they had enough sense to use the downstream side,” said Tom.
“It can still contaminate the upstream water,” replied Chakotay. “That stream isn’t flowing swiftly enough to prevent a backflow.”
Still, they had no choice. Not to drink the putrid water was to invite sure death. They moved to their left, toward the upstream side of the creek, aware that their every step was watched curiously by nearby prisoners.
As they approached the stream, Chakotay noticed what appeared to be a blanket stretched on the swampy bank of the creek, and for a moment he thought someone had spread it there to make the crossing to the water somewhat easier.
When they got closer, however, they made a chilling discovery. “Commander,” said Harry uncertainly, “I think that’s a person.”
It was. A scrawny body lay on the swampy surface, head completely submerged in the turgidly flowing waters of the stream. Tuvok waded toward it and, with one strong arm, lifted it from the watery grave.
It was an old woman, face lined with her years, hair a dirty gray, caked now with mud. Her eyes were open but sightless, and her mouth hung open in the slack-jawed grimace of death. Beneath that was another mouth, or so it seemed, until Tuvok said, “Her throat has been cut,” and they saw that was true, her neck yawning with a gaping wound, out of which her life had bled.
They pulled the body to dry ground, and no sooner had they done so than it was set upon by several people who quickly stripped it of clothing and shoes, even though she wore little more than threadbare rags and the shoes were worn through at the soles. After that she lay naked, shriveled and bony, dead eyes staring up at the sun. Insects soon found her.
Chakotay noted that Harry was looking a little pale. “We have to drink,” he reminded them all, and led the way to the stream from which they had just removed a dead body. He knelt down on the muddy bank and scooped water into his mouth. It was brackish and sour, but it would hydrate him, and that was the important thing.
The others did the same, reacting to the unpleasant taste but drinking nonetheless. But one of the security guards, Brad Harrison, hung back. “I don’t think I’m that thirsty, sir,” he said to Chakotay.
“Drink it anyway, Ensign. That’s an order. We can’t afford to let ourselves get weak. We have to drink what we have available, eat anything we have to in order to keep up our strength. The energy you lose from one missed meal can take you weeks to recover.”
Harry smiled wanly. “You sound like Commander Nimembeh,” he said. “He was my survival instructor at the Academy.”
“Mine, too,” said Chakotay. “Except he was Lieutenant Nimembeh when I was there. All right, go get the others and tell them to come and drink. Then we’ll think about where we’re going to camp.”
Harry trotted off with Tom, and Chakotay tried not to look at the body of the old woman, now almost completely covered with insects.
Three hours later, spirits somewhat restored by the slaking of their thirst, the group had found a reasonably bare patch of ground, which they chose as a campsite. Soon after that an alarm sounded, numerous doors in the walls opened, and hover vehicles emerged from them. The prisoners all rose and stood alongside the paths that crisscrossed the meadow, and the vehicles moved among them, dispensing rations.
Taking their cue from the others, Voyager’s crew did the same, and were each handed a crumbling cake of something resembling baked grains, shot through with dirt and small bits of rock. They stared at it, dismayed. Chakotay once again led the way, breaking off a small portion, putting it in his mouth and chewing carefully to locate the stones.
“Eat up,” he said as cheerfully as he could, and the group sat down and had their first meal as Subu prisoners. The torturous